


Reasons and Momentary Fancies

by jedishampoo



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, baby's first slash, mentions past noncon, old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:52:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7679812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedishampoo/pseuds/jedishampoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Archie Kennedy and Horatio Hornblower - back in Ferrol. Archie has so little to give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reasons and Momentary Fancies

**Author's Note:**

> Another old fic - from 2004, I believe. My first slashfic? More Kennedy/Hornblower, if order matters. I believe it was slightly purple, and other things, so please excuse my early efforts. And there might be some slight misogyny in there.

**Reasons and Momentary Fancies**  
**By**[ **Jedishampoo**](mailto:jedishampoo@gmail.com)  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Pairing:** Archie Kennedy / Horatio Hornblower  
**Summary:** Another El Ferrol fic. Slash. First-time.  
**A/N:** Been done before, yes, but as my challenger and friend sharpeslass said, "not by you." My first time writing ::ahem:: butt sex. Feel free to enjoy or bash as you will.  
   
*******  
   
Archie Kennedy didn’t turn to watch as the door shut with a thump and a click behind them. He looked ahead, into his four-walled future, and forced a grin.  
   
"It almost feels like home."  
   
It was not a lie. After more than two years in prison and months in El Ferrol, this cell and its stone walls and sandy floor looked more homey, more familiar than had the _Indefatigable_ during his brief day on shipboard. The Indy’s officers and Captain had welcomed Archie’s return with flowery words that hid discomfort and halting guilt; these Spanish guards seemed more straightforward. Their sly grins and short commands only barely concealed admiration for these men who had returned of their own free will.  
   
Dying but still-warm sunlight slanted through the bars in the walls and door, a contrast to the rain and damp breezes that had assailed them at sea. Even the taste of the place was well-known. Dust gritted in his mouth already. His bed against the wall was not exactly comfortable but neither did it sway like a ship’s cot—it was solid, familiar.  
   
Archie leaned back upon it and took a few moments to wonder, though, how much longer he would have to call this place home. Captain Pellew had spoken to him privately, had informed him that his effects were unfortunately long returned to his family in England; had, with an assessing eye that perhaps remembered Hornblower’s report, informed him that he was prepared to offer him an acting lieutenancy. For his honorable conduct he would accrue seniority and half-pay while imprisoned in Spain.  
   
Archie laughed to himself at the thought of being a lieutenant now, after all these years. What would it take to make him forget how to be a prisoner and learn to be an officer? Perhaps Horatio would teach him, as payment for lessons in the Spanish tongue.  
   
"Archie?" That same Horatio, all bundled energy on the top bunk across from Archie, had not been able to relax or remain silent for long. Yet his voice was hesitant.  
   
"Yes?"  
   
"I couldn’t really say so before, but thank you. For…everything. For your high spirits at this of all times."  
   
"You’re welcome," Archie replied, not bothering to hide the affectionate laughter in his voice. His friend wouldn’t have been able to say such a thing in front of the men. Their loyalty was his due, and to thank them would only show doubt and weakness. With Archie, however, there was no need for pretense.  
   
Yet there was no need to thank him, either. In fact, Archie thought it should be the other way around. In his time here Archie had nearly died—had in fact longed for death—yet now, somehow, even imprisonment was a happier existence than none.  
   
"Archie," Horatio began again, flicking a quick glance from the upper bunk. He hesitated, seeming almost embarrassed as he caught Archie’s eye upon him, then swallowed and continued. "You really didn’t have to--"  
   
"Horatio--"  
   
A knock on the door and a jangling of keys interrupted their devolvement into base sentiment and heralded the return of the guard. This time he carried the books Archie had earlier been thinking on-- the lexicon of Spanish, the copy of _Don Quixote_ , left behind when they went to rescue the _Almeria_. They provided as fine a distraction as any. In mute agreement both men sat on the floor and went to work.  
   
They made slim progress on the book in the fading light, and had been straining their eyes for quite some time when they were interrupted by the arrival of a surprising meal. Fresh bread, an actual piece of meat, and colorful, delicious fruit showed the appreciation of either Don Massaredo or his cook for the honor of English sailors.  
   
After this supper they went to bed early, still in a strange state of tired euphoria brought on by their surreal return to prison.  
   
Archie slept. He dreamed.  
   
***  
   
_The cell was dark when Archie returned, escorted only as far as the door by Captain Hether. Archie had been out feeding the wolves and had lost track of time, lulled by the scent of lavender and the colorless vision of daffodils dancing in the moon’s breeze._  
  
But now the moon was gone, had sunk into the ocean somewhere near America, and Archie knew he would reap retribution for his dawdling.  
   
The door clicked shut and a dark, ragged shape slid into the room, feet-first between the bars on the window, and landed on the wooden floor with a thump and a hiss. The shape wore only one shoe.  
   
"Where have you been, boy?" it asked, undulating in the dark. "Jack’s been waiting for you--"  
   
_"Ugh," was all Archie could say, as the corpse wiped the clumps of dirt from its jacket and moved toward him…_  
  
***  
   
"Ugh," Archie said aloud, and rolled onto his back. The hard edge of the bunk poked him in the side, only half-waking him as his mind reordered itself, a learned defense.  
   
Archie slept. He dreamed.  
   
***  
   
_It had been a good party which had only improved as the night progressed. The girl rolled off him with a tired giggle, and Archie leaned his head against the pillow and sighed a sigh of deep satisfaction. The room swam with his release of breath and the alcohol he’d consumed, and the nude figures on the ridiculous painted ceiling above his head danced about on pink stone clouds._  
  
With an effort Archie breathed in again and focused his mind, glancing at the girl and patting her rear affectionately. He couldn’t remember her name. She was some friend of Lieutenant Lord Blakesleigh’s most recent mistress, Harriet, come down from London. Strangely, Archie could remember that. And apparently Harriet had many friends. The Portsmouth townhouse was full of lightskirts, giggling and screaming in every room along with every rake-helly Navy gentleman who had their Captain’s permission to sleep ashore.  
   
Archie rolled his head and glanced to his other side. It seemed the damned bed went on forever, but then he realized it was a mirror as he saw two figures reclined across from him. After a few more moments, when the figure in the reflection didn’t answer his languid wave, he remembered that it was another bed with matching posts pushed against this one. Blakesleigh had odd tastes, to be sure.  
   
Archie crawled and slid, eel-like, across the satin sheets to get a look at the other bodies. One was Horatio, flat on his back and snoring lightly. The other, more pleasingly-rounded shape was definitely female, prone on the covers. Closer inspection revealed it to be the red-haired Harriet.  
   
Archie examined the scene for a long moment, smothering a laugh. Horatio’s prick was asleep, curled between his thighs, and a white, womanly buttock peeked from over the angle of his hip. How very Renaissance it all was—the expanses of smooth naked skin, and all that tousled hair. Archie thought he should name the display. "Nudes Reclining with Passion Spent" might do it.  
   
He threw an arm across Horatio’s chest to prop himself over him on the bed, but only succeeded in driving a drunken elbow into his friend’s ribs.  
   
"Ow!" Horatio yelled, and came awake with a start.  
   
"Shhh," Archie whispered, trying to drown a snicker. "We don’t want to bring Blakesleigh down upon us, not after you’ve tumbled his light-o’-love."  
   
Horatio was silent and wide-eyed for a moment, as if assessing whether this might be the case and calculating his risks.  
   
"No," he said finally, looking at Archie with dark eyes that said _fool_ in the candlelight. "He’d never hear. And she was crying, earlier. Said he’d spurned her, and broken her heart…"  
   
"Ah, Horatio. You innocent. You’re an idiot for even the tears of a strumpet…"  
   
"Shhh!" Horatio’s whisper echoed Archie’s earlier admonishment. "She’ll hear you!"  
   
"Not a chance. You’ve put her to sleep with your chivalry."  
   
Horatio just glared at him. After a moment, however, his frown relaxed into a slight smile.  
   
Archie admired the look, the reddened nose and gleaming cheeks, and the lips curled and slightly parted, showing the glimmer of white teeth. He was reminded again of a Renaissance painting, of the enigmatic Mona Lisa, who smiled for one knew not what. It was all so lovely, his alcohol-soaked brain decided. Without thought, he leaned close, to wipe off that smirk before he sighed in pure artistic foolishness.  
   
His mouth was his closest tool and he used it, pressing it against Horatio’s. He’d meant it to be quick and friendly but his lips lingered, savoring the quiet surprised breath that was the consequence of his act.  
   
The taste of it pleased him and he breathed it again. Amazingly, Horatio’s mouth remained open. It could have been dumb stupefaction but Archie took advantage nonetheless. The tongue beneath his was warm and slick. Archie had to coax it into life but it was quick work and well-enjoyed.  
   
He was hardly aware of what he was doing and who he was kissing for a few long minutes, until fingers pressed hard into his bare shoulders. He pulled away in some surprise to see Horatio staring at him.  
   
"Why don’t you kiss your girl?" Horatio wanted to know. His tone was indignant, but Archie noticed that Horatio wouldn’t meet his eyes. His own were fastened on Archie’s lips, staring at them as if he’d never seen them before.  
   
"I don’t know her name," Archie replied as if this made perfect sense. "Do you mind?"  
   
"No…"  
   
"Well, then," Archie said, and leaned in for another kiss.  
   
When he closed his eyes the room dissolved again from thought and memory. He felt fingers slide from his shoulders down his chest to his sides, palms pressing against his ribcage. His own hand crossed the sheets to press against damp curls and a warm cheek.  
   
Archie was no connoisseur of men but he couldn’t deny that it felt wonderful. The mouth beneath his was wet, the heaving chest beneath his was warm and the sound of their small moans thrummed pleasantly in his head. And he couldn’t deny the chill pulses of desire that rippled through his blood. He was damned if he wasn’t starting to ache in his belly, the throbbing pain against the sheets reminding him that he was naked and drunk and deliriously aroused.  
   
Besides, he _liked_ Horatio. Simpson was gone, left behind on _Justinian_ , and Archie was free to befriend whomever he pleased.  
   
His limbs sought for more than fabric beneath them, so he curled against the flesh pressed tantalizingly at his side, wanting it closer. He shifted and his hip brushed something hard—  
   
"Ah!" It was Horatio, as stiff as Archie. But he was shocked and embarrassed by it. Eyes wide, he jerked and pushed Archie away.  
   
Archie opened his mouth to protest, but another voice belayed his.  
   
"Here! Wotsis?"  
   
It was Harriet. She was conscious, propped on her side, and watching them. Archie wondered how long she’d been awake. It must not have been long, he decided, as he saw her eyes drawn to Horatio’s erection.  
   
"Oh, look," she cooed. "Young sailors are ever so much fun."  
   
With that erudite statement she crawled with a slight wobble to the foot of the bed, where she collapsed on Horatio’s legs. A snort escaped her rose-petal lips, but then she wrapped a firm hand around Horatio’s cock and bent her head to suck at it with a professionalism that was astounding to observe.  
   
"Ungh," Horatio said.  
   
Archie laughed, trying to find it funny, but felt renewed heat crawl through his limbs as he watched. Horatio’s face was amazing; he closed his eyes and bit at his lower lip, and Archie could see the sweat sheen form on his cheeks and temples.  
   
Again without thought Archie bent to kiss him, feeling Horatio’s breaths as they quickened and deepened. Horatio moaned and raised his hands about as if he didn’t know what to do with them.  
   
"Shh," Archie said against his lips, and caught the fingers to press them into the bed. He liked it, liked seeing Horatio so powerless and self-conscious and at a loss. He wondered what could make it worse. An evil impulse dragged his lips down to Horatio’s ear. He licked it once, enjoying the shudder that tore through his friend at that torture, then whispered, "Just let her do it."  
   
The body beneath his relaxed, gave way. Propping himself to watch, Archie released the hands he held to run his own over that pale chest. Horatio stared at him, eyes agonized.  
   
Archie felt very wicked. It was a gorgeous debauchery, and to involve Horatio in it was unforgivable. Yet he knew Horatio could have fought it if he wanted: he did not fight, _ergo_ he did not want to. Poor Horatio, a lamb of a midshipman thrown among the wolves.  
   
The poor lamb grabbed Archie’s shoulders and pulled his face down into his neck. Whether he only wanted Archie to stop watching or to be closer, the result was the same. Archie kissed him again, and before he knew it Horatio had shoved a tongue in his mouth like he meant it.  
   
Soon Horatio tensed and his breaths came short, sharp and quick. The noise he made against Archie’s mouth sounded something like a cross between a cough and a whimper. He was close, if not there already. Archie felt oddly proud, as if he’d brought it about himself. He almost wished he had.  
   
Smacking noises reached Archie’s ear from below, and Horatio whispered, suddenly, "Archie…" And then there was only breathing and quiet female laughter, and Archie stared, stunned at himself and at Horatio. But he was hard, as stiff as a cannon, and Christ, it hurt. He was wondering how to speak the words, to say what he wanted next—  
   
"Are you gonna ignore me, then?" the shrill female voice came from behind. Apparently Miss Anonymous was awake.  
   
"Goddammit," Archie spat, feeling real anger for a second. The next he laughed at himself, at his own odd, momentary fancies.  
   
He rolled off Horatio to face the nameless girl, and by the time he lay atop her his smile was real. A few moments saw her legs wrapped around his hips and he was buried inside, someplace wet, tight and exciting, someplace he understood.  
   
_He was having a jolly good go at it when the voice interrupted him. "Archie," it said, then "Archie!" again, more insistently._  
  
***  
   
"Archie! Wake up!"  
   
Startled, Archie rocketed to a sitting position, bleary eyes and hands searching for the threat. But it was only Horatio, kneeling on the floor next to him.  
   
Horatio was tousled and sleepy, and looking so like the Horatio of his dream that for a moment he wondered why he’d interrupted his sport. Another glance around the room brought him more firmly back to his surroundings. He was in prison, on a hard bed, and Horatio had rudely begun to shake his shoulders.  
   
"What?" Archie said, feeling a bit cranky at this curt awakening.  
   
"Shhh," Horatio was saying. "It’s all right. You’re all right."  
   
"Good God." Archie pushed the hands away. "Of course I’m all right, you idiot. Why did you wake me?"  
   
Horatio sat back on his heels, eyes confused. "You were moaning. I thought perhaps you were having a nightmare. Or—or--"  
   
"No. _Not_ a fit." A deep breath and roll of his eyes made Archie feel immeasurably better. "Only a dream. A good dream. I don’t think I shall tell you what it was about."  
   
Horatio stiffened and pursed his lips in embarrassment. "Then I _do_ apologize--"  
   
Another deep breath returned Archie’s humor in full. "Don’t, Horatio." He looked at his friend, fondly. Scant moonlight crept in through the window and cast a gentle, colorless glow on the features of the room, and on the face of the man before him. It _was_ different. The prominent nose and otherwise fine features were there, but older, less innocent-looking. Archie realized that he hardly knew Horatio anymore, and wondered at the experiences Horatio had not told him about.  
   
Regardless of its slight unfamiliarity, their time here had made the face dear to him once more. It was the only face Archie had seen in years that truly cared whether he lived or died. For God’s sake, the man had fed him gruel when he was laid up in bed, unable or unwilling to move, had held a spoon to his lips like he was a child. The very nightshirt he was wearing was Horatio’s, grabbed from a sea-chest that had remained on the _Indy_.  
   
Surprising and unbidden, the memory of his erotic dream returned for a moment like a whisper in his brain to warm his blood. Archie reached out to grab Horatio’s shoulders, and pulled himself from the bed to kneel in front of his friend.  
   
"You worry too much, Horatio," he said, letting a smile creep into his tone.  
   
"But…" Horatio said, and swallowed. "I suppose I might. But I do feel responsible for your being here. Just when you’d decided you might like to return to the _Indy_ , you were forced to come back--"  
   
"Poor Horatio," Archie whispered. His fingers clasped the cool cheeks, trying to remember them. "It must be a sore trial to you, always being responsible."  
   
"I was _not_ saying that," Horatio whispered in return, matching Archie’s tone. "But I _was_ worried. I’ll admit it. You’ve had two years in here with bad memories. And--"  
   
"And?" Archie warned, pulling his hands away, not wanting to discuss those now. They had been explained once, and once was enough.  
   
"And I promise to stop now."  
   
"Please do." Archie let his eyes continue to wander across Horatio’s features. He saw the small, self-righteous frown, and in an unconscious echo of his dream-memory decided to wipe it away. Before Horatio could say a word Archie leaned forward and pressed his mouth against cool lips.  
   
There were many ways to show affection. Archie wondered why he’d chosen this one, when a hand-pat or shoulder squeeze might accomplish the same thing. Horatio didn’t move, didn’t pull away, just sat still as a statue, as if undecided.  
   
But Archie was preoccupied with his own sensations. He could smell the clean scent of Horatio’s hair, the washed hair of the only man Archie knew who insisted on bathing in prison. He scrubbed himself naked each morning at the pump while the men laughed.  
   
Archie pressed his lips harder against the mouth, forcing it open. Horatio’s tongue emerged, to wet their lips between them, and Archie met it happily. The resulting thrill of desire was instantaneous and surprising, and he pushed closer, hands sliding over Horatio’s back, feeling the warmth through the thin fabric of the nightshirt.  
   
A clank from across the courtyard outside a few minutes later reminded Archie where he was and what he was doing, and he pulled away to see what his madness had wrought. Wonder of wonders, Horatio was smiling.  
   
"You must have been _very_ lonely," he said.  
   
"Desperately so," Archie laughed, glad that for once Horatio understood. He released his hold on his friend to push himself up so that he could sit on the bunk. To his delight, Horatio joined him a moment later. Archie had not wanted to relinquish the contact, and secretly hoped for its quick return. "How about yourself?" he continued, leaning back to lounge on the bed.  
   
"Well," Horatio shrugged, waving his hands before glancing back at Archie. "You know the life of a seaman…"  
   
"What about Kitty Cobham?" Archie asked as a thought struck him. "You spent an inordinate amount of time with her…"  
   
Horatio flushed slightly, enough so that it was visible in the moonlight. He pursed his lips again in the familiar expression. " _That_ I will not tell you."  
   
"You don’t need to," Archie said with a smile, roving his gaze around the tiny room to allow time for Horatio’s dignity to return. "Lucky man."  
   
With that statement he grasped Horatio’s arm and pulled him down next to him. In another few moments he’d adjusted both their limbs so that they lay pressed together on the narrow bunk, one arm free to caress Horatio’s back.  
   
He opened his mouth to speak, then forgot what he was going to say. His lips found a better use for themselves. He craned his neck forward for a slow kiss, his tongue speaking his languorous thoughts to Horatio’s mouth.  
   
But their situation, the closeness, was wholly intimate and demanded more. Soon they were kissing hungrily, single-mindedly, as if their sanity or lack thereof depended upon it. Horatio’s long, warm fingers caressed Archie’s back, drawing meaningless symbols of affection and desire through his shirt, heated shapes that stirred Archie’s blood. It wasn’t long before Archie was hard and throbbingly sore; he pushed a knee between Horatio’s thighs, to ease the ache against his hip.  
   
The legs against his knee were oddly hairy, were man’s legs, but the genitals between them were soft and vulnerable and warm. At least until Archie’s skin made contact with the dry, sleek flesh of Horatio’s cock, which tautened to life as Archie rubbed against it.  
   
"Ah!" Archie called out suddenly. Horatio had shifted his knee beneath him clumsily, trying to untangle their legs, and had jarred it against the bare flesh of Archie’s aching erection. Then he realized that Horatio had at some point lifted Archie’s nightshirt until he was bare-assed in the night breeze. Surprise and relief drowned his momentary indignation. Apparently Horatio was enjoying this.  
   
"I’m sorry," Horatio said. His flushed face beneath Archie’s shone, dark brows drawn slightly together with worry. "I was trying to make you more comfortable."  
   
"Comfortable. Ha!" Archie choked out, trying not to tremble. Horatio had clenched his knees about Archie’s thighs like a girl. Archie wondered if Horatio realized what his position suggested. "If only you knew…"  
   
"Are you all right?" Horatio’s hand slid along Archie’s bare hip to his spine, a maddening caress of oblivious comfort.  
   
Archie had to take a deep breath to counteract the chills of desire that shot through him at the calloused touch. "Yes, and _I_ apologize," he whispered hoarsely, then had to swallow. "Two years with _very_ bad memories. I wouldn’t want to--"  
   
"It’s all right," Horatio interrupted, sounding perfectly logical and in control. If Archie hadn’t been able to feel the crazed pounding of the heart beneath his hand, he would have thought the man was made of ice. Horatio glanced down at Archie’s stiffened cock against his own stomach, then swallowed and raised his eyes with a studied, bland gaze. "I don’t mind."  
   
The words bit at Archie with a jolt of reckless lust. He’d never dared even to want such a thing, knowing how it could hurt when not given freely. And God be damned, he was not going to let Horatio turn this into some sort of pity display for Archie, or, as it appeared to be, some sort of intellectual exercise involving circumference and diameters and experimentation.  
   
But neither would he deny that he wanted it, wanted to try it himself, and with someone he cared for. His desire-fuddled mind reached a plan, and he put it into action. He didn’t even ask, _are you sure_ , because Horatio was no coward, and neither would he have offered something he wasn’t willing to give.  
   
"You don’t mind, do you?" Archie whispered. He tore off his nightshirt and tossed it aside, and in his hands Horatio’s soon followed. The coverings were doing neither of them any particular good at the moment, anyway. "I remember when you _might_ have minded…"  
   
Horatio’s retort was smothered by Archie’s lips, his breath knocked from his body with an _oomph_ as Archie fell atop him. Archie suppressed a tight gasp himself as skin met bare skin. It had been ages since he’d had a naked body pressed against him, and that fact that it was Horatio’s mattered not a whit.  
   
Then for a long while it was just gasping breaths and low moans as they tangled themselves against each other. Every drawn-out second of it was torture. The ache and the contact were to Archie’s love-starved flesh nigh unbearable. Horatio’s hands were all over him, and he apparently found some small revenge by dragging his lips from Archie’s to shove a tongue in his ear. It was enough to jolt Archie somewhat back to his senses, shattered as they were.  
   
He peeled himself away a bit, gasping as a light, Spanish wind blew in from the window to cool his sweat-sticky skin. There was something that had to be done before… ah, he remembered what it was.  
   
A deep breath refortified him, and Archie laid one last feather-light kiss on Horatio’s lips before sliding down, over his chin to his Adam’s apple. It rose and fell beneath his tongue with Horatio’s each panting breath. He scooted back, licking a trail down the heaving breastbone, stopping on the way to taste one small, flat nipple. An indrawn breath was his reward, and his shoulder sparked with sudden pain as Horatio clenched it in a death-grip.  
   
Archie couldn’t have those hands getting in the way, not with what he was planning. His elbows found purchase on the rough sheets and he grabbed the fingers in his, twining and clasping them to Horatio’s sides to keep them still. This of course limited his own movement but he didn't need his hands, after all.  
   
He resumed his work, kissing his way down to the ridiculous soft skin of Horatio’s belly. It quivered and jumped beneath his lips, and he wanted to laugh. Instead he licked at the smooth flesh, tasting the sharp salt of their commingled sweat upon it.  
   
The slow and inexorable descent of his mouth finally clued Horatio in to what he planned. "Really, Archie," he began, then choked.  
   
Archie didn’t answer, just held Horatio’s straining hands and dropped his lips until he felt the dry, even more delicate skin of Horatio’s erection against his ear.  
   
Tight apprehension gripped his chest for an instant, squeezing his heart and lungs together until breath and blood stilled. He could do this more efficiently by hand, he knew. But that would be so…impersonal. With that thought, the fear evaporated in a sun-hot wave of tenderness. He _wanted_ to do this, he realized, and had wanted to once before, for someone who was his friend and deserved whatever Archie could give.  
   
He turned his cheek against the fluttering abdomen and placed gentle lips upon firm flesh.  
   
"Oh, God," Horatio said.  
   
Archie chuckled painfully. Those two words had been filled with a mixture of dismay and thick desire, reminding Archie of that memory two years or twenty minutes old, he couldn’t remember which. This time it was utterly for him and his chest and groin suffered all the more for it.  
   
He pushed himself up, still holding Horatio’s hands to his sides, and took the tip of the cock into his mouth, running his tongue over it, endeavoring to accustom himself to the taste of it. Archie sent up a silent prayer, thanking God that it was clean, like the rest of Horatio. Another breath and he seized it deeper, gliding his lips to wet the dry, smooth surface.  
   
He found he didn’t mind it, and that furthermore he loved the low moans that drifted on the light breeze to his ears. A world of difference lay between this act of devotion and anything similar he’d performed. The times before had been few but unwilling, and he’d learned fast how to bring about a quick end to the matter. But it was a liberating feeling, this desire to please, to draw out the encounter.  
   
But that too would be unfair to Horatio. Archie glanced up and saw that his friend’s eyes were screwed shut, and his entire form flushed pink with ecstasy or embarrassment or both.  
   
Thus he released one of the captured hands with a silent patted admonition to remain still, and curled his own between Horatio’s legs to run a thumb along the soft underside of the taut penis as he sucked it again into his mouth.  
   
Breathing through his nose he clamped his lips tight, careful not to bite, and found a slow but steady rhythm he thought might be pleasurable. Horatio was gasping aloud now, past embarrassment, an erotic and well-remembered sound that coiled about Archie’s ears and gave him the courage to relax his throat.  
   
Mercilessly he held Horatio still with the hand that remained at his side, and moved mouth and hand in relentless unison. Soon the fingers beneath his tightened and Horatio gasped, clear as a pistol shot in the quiet of their cell, and jerked upwards. Archie’s mouth was filled with the warmth of Horatio’s climax. It was marvelous.  
   
Archie remembered in time to close his throat, but allowed a few more moments for Horatio to pour out his release. The now-pliant flesh slid from his mouth. Archie cupped a surreptitious hand beneath his lips and spat.  
   
A moment was required for both of them to catch their breaths, but Archie had a need that was quickly overtaking any desire for air. _I don’t mind_ , Horatio had said, all innocence, and Archie the wicked was nearly dying to take advantage.  
   
He lay his cheek for a moment against Horatio’s sweaty stomach while his cupped hand found its way to his own insanely aching erection. His cock slicked gratifyingly in the mixture of semen and spat in his palm. Horatio would need all the help he could get. Archie had nothing else to offer.  
   
He finally crawled his way back up the heaving form beneath him until his chin rested on Horatio’s shoulder. His own fingers guided him, still slick, above the rough cloth of the sheets. With one knee he nudged at Horatio’s thigh and Horatio seemed to get the idea. He bent his legs.  
   
Before he lost his own nerve Archie lifted his chin and surged forward, easing the tip of his cock against the inviting warmth presented to him. The way was tight, deliriously so, and Archie moaned from the pit of his gut as he pushed himself against it, every tiny thrust bringing more muscled flesh to grip at him.  
   
Below him Horatio groaned slightly but his face was still, passive. Archie suspected it was a ruse; tension showed in every flutter of Horatio’s closed eyelids. But Archie was pressed into a clutch so hot it was a torture, and his lust-scattered thoughts convinced him that by being slow he was only prolonging a pain he had no wish to give.  
   
A quick thrust and he was in, and he almost died from the sheer pleasure of it. He couldn’t breathe. His last captured breath forced itself out through his nostrils, and it took great will to summon the strength to replace it.  
   
"Horatio," he gasped, the word alone threatening movement that would surely be the end of him. His chest burned. He breathed again. "I’m sorry…"  
   
Eyes blinked open, inky-black in the darkness, and focused on Archie. "It’s all right," Horatio said, the words soft, whispered.  
   
Archie could only nod in reply. He drew himself out slightly, wincing as deep muscles contracted around his most sensitive flesh. It felt so incredible he never wanted to stop, and guilt assailed him for his impassioned selfishness. Nevertheless he did it again.  
   
"I’m sorry," he could only repeat into Horatio’s shoulder as pulled out again, jerkily, then pushed forward for more.  
   
Soft hands caressed Archie’s back in reply, gentle fingers kneading his flesh. Horatio’s breath pulsed softly against Archie’s ear. It was a quiet cadence to match every thrust. Dimly Archie felt Horatio’s thighs clench about his waist as he tried to ease what must be an uncomfortable experience.  
   
Unbidden, the thought crept into Archie’s mind that it was no wonder this was a forbidden act. It was too extraordinary to be legal. Another thought told him that it was also no wonder that someone had forced this upon him in the past, but a small crumb of rational judgment overrode that ghostly voice. This was a gift of a friend for a lonely soul, and had no connection with the past.  
   
Yet tangible matters were considerably more urgent. With Horatio’s arms and legs wrapped around him Archie could press even closer. He lay his chest atop Horatio’s, now feeling each short breath as he heard it. He moved his hips faster, as fast as he dared, until gravity pooled in his gut then spread out to grip his limbs and each motion was more excruciating than the last. Finally his hips gave an involuntary jerk and he came. His climax was a river—no, a flood—rising and falling, capricious, as years of tension flowed out of him.  
   
Limp and coated with his own release he slid out much more easily than he’d gone in. He wanted to collapse, but forced himself onto his elbows. It was important that he see how Horatio felt about all this.  
   
Horatio wasn’t looking at him—his eyes were open but staring at the ceiling. Archie felt a small moment of panic until he saw the dark brows drawn together, the teeth grazing the lower lip. Horatio was thinking.  
   
A snort escaped his lips. "Are you all right?" he asked.  
   
"Yes. It wasn’t…" Horatio said, swiveling his gaze to Archie. He stopped speaking for a moment and Archie laughed again, to see Horatio seeking for the right words, the diplomatic words. Long fingers waved above Archie’s back, cooling his damp skin. Finally he only said, "I’m fine."  
   
Archie was glad for it. To him this had been something wonderful, to make love to a human being after three forlorn years. He didn’t want to hear a scientific dissertation on the subject, which was what Horatio would likely offer if given the chance.  
   
Then Archie remembered the taste of Horatio’s cock in his mouth, and the seed on his lips. He smiled to himself. _That_ had been real enough, proof of Horatio’s emotional and physical investment in this night’s activities.  
   
A quick, last kiss and Archie rolled himself off the subdued Horatio, shifting until one side of his body pressed against the wall and the other against Horatio. This would not happen again, he knew that. Privately he suspected Horatio of guilt or pity or some other base reason for allowing what he had, but Archie wasn’t going to let that suspicion ruin his enjoyment of it, all the same.  
   
He breathed and let the silence of the cell surround them, becoming deeper until he realized it wasn’t silence at all but an atmosphere like any other, filled with tiny pockets of life that thrived even in prison. The sleepy guards, shuffling about far away on the walls, the drip somewhere of a water-pump, the sighing of the air and the quiet buzzing of insects in the hills. The quiet snore of Horatio, stretched out beside him.  
   
_Good God. The man could sleep anywhere._ Archie elbowed him in the ribs, feeling just a tiny bit of satisfaction at being able to avenge his own earlier rude awakening. Horatio jumped and swallowed.  
   
"You probably don’t want to fall asleep here," Archie pointed out.  
   
"No," Horatio agreed. He peeled himself from the bed and crawled about on the floor, searching for his nightshirt. Once dressed he crawled into his bunk with a last whispered "goodnight, Archie."  
   
Archie slept. He dreamed.  
   
***  
   
_Sea-air and smoke assailed Archie’s nostrils, and the sound of the men’s battle-lust filled his ears. He sliced his knife through the French man-o-war’s flimsy netting, then tossed it aside as his feet thumped to the heaving deck. His sword slid free of its scabbard and pointed, unerringly as a magnet, at the heart of the very first red hat he saw._  
  
  
*****  
   
**End: _Thanks for Reading!_**  
   
  



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